3 years
by misskes
Summary: my take on that infamous 3 years, from both Bulma & Vegeta's POV
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own DBZ. Just this story**

Realization

As he leans down over me, pointing to something on my sketches, I realize that this is the first time I've ever really _looked_ at Vegeta. I'm seated at my desk, where I've been toiling away for the past few hours, and Vegeta is standing behind me, where he has been, silently, for the past thirty minutes or so. The chair creaks as he rests his hand on its back. I can smell the musky scent of sweat floating off of him. He's speaking to me, pointing and motioning with his hand, but I can't for the life of me concentrate on what he's saying. All I can think about is how handsome he looks right now with the light of my table lamp reflecting off the dark walls, making shadows all along his face. He is stunning.

"Woman!" I snap back into reality, my eyes focusing on his. I feel a slight blush forming on my cheeks. He narrows his eyes at me and stands up straight.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeh," I manage to mutter. He stares at me, his eyes cold. I watch the muscles in his jaw tighten.

"Yeh," I say louder, more forcefully, narrowing my own eyes in the process, trying to cover up the embarrassment of being caught staring at him. He sticks his nose in the air, emitting a low guttural sound from deep in his throat.

"Then fix it how I showed you," he sneers and turns sharply on his heel, stalking out of my lab with a grace I wish I had half of. I let out the air I didn't realize I was holding and lean back in my chair.

I glance at the small clock on my table and blink to clear my eyes. The red numbers blaringly read 1:32. I blink again as the exhaustion falls on me all at once. I yawn and stretch.

"Oh, Bulma, he's going to be royally pissed when he finds out you really weren't listening to him," I smile to myself. Slowly I pick myself up out of the chair and make my way to my bed.

* * *

I'm so close I can feel the stray strands of her hair on my face. She smells soft, some kind of flowery aroma on her hair and skin. I point to the drawings she's made of my training bots. I've been standing here, watching her for a while now, and I'm surprised at how impressed I am. But these prototypes are still sub par to my standards, and I pull myself out of my comfort zone to communicate my preferences to her. I rest my hand on the back of her chair and it squeaks. I can feel the heat of her body on my fingers. The more I explain what I need from the new bots the more I feel as if I'm speaking to myself. I steal a glance over at her. She's staring blankly at me.

"Woman!"

She jumps. I narrow my eyes and stand upright. Just as I suspected, she was daydreaming.

"Are you even listening to me?" I demand.

"Yeh" she replies quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. I clench my jaw and silently count to five in my head. I hate being ignored.

"Yeh," she repeats, this time with that familiar attitude in her tone. She narrows her eyes at me. I humph and jut out my chin, letting out an involuntary growl in the process.

"Then fix it how I showed you," I snarl at her, making an about face right out of the room. I can feel her eyes boring into my back during my entire exit.


	2. Chapter 2

ch.2

I feel the heat from the sun on my eyes as my mother pulls back the curtains from my windows. I groan and roll over, putting my back to the offending light.

"Bulma, dear. I've got a lot of work to do before your father and I leave this afternoon. You're not just gonna lie in bed all day and not help me are you?" I can hear the pouting in my mother's voice. I groan again and roll back over to face her, shielding my face with my hand.

"Fine, Mom. I'll get up. Just give me a minute oK?"

"oK, dear," my mother's chirpiness is instantly back and she flits around my room, dusting random pieces of furniture.

I glare at her. I've never been a morning person a day in my life and my mother's constant perkiness really rubs me the wrong way during the beginning hours of the morning.

"I'm just so excited to be going away for a few days. All your poor father does is work, work, work. All the time, never any time to just sit and enjoy himself. It's a big responsibility running this whole entire company by himself you know." my mother looks expectantly at me. I sigh and nod in agreement.

"Oh, oK, Bulma. I'll leave if you want me to. You're always so grumpy in the mornings." my mother giggles and grins at me, waving the duster in the air as she practically skips out my bedroom door. I sigh and stretch, my back cracking pleasantly. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of my bed and raise my arms above my head in one final cat like stretch. Content, I stand and make my way out of my room towards the bathroom.

The door is shut and I can smell the steam coming from the inside. I press my ear to the door. No sound of water. I fidget with a hangnail for a moment, trying to decide if I should wait for the bathroom's occupant to come out or if I should make my way to the next nearest bathroom. I give myself a once-over in the hall mirror. My hair is disheveled and I'm wearing a too short nightie and nothing else. I decide to wait here instead of trekking through the house in my current state.

I lean against the wall next to the door, still playing with my nail. I pull the dead skin back, wincing as the hangnail rips off the new skin, too. On reflex I bring my finger to my mouth to stifle the pain, tasting a hint of blood on my tongue.

The bathroom door opens simultaneously with my hangnail fiasco. I look over to see Vegeta scowling at me, steam billowing around him. He has a white towel tied loosely around his waist, and another slung across his shoulders, encircling his neck.

I stare at him, finger still in mouth, and blush at how ridiculous I probably look to him. He humphs and walks past me briskly. I frown in his direction and step into the bathroom. The tiles are cold on my feet but the actual room is warm and it smells like the body wash my mother bought him. I smile to myself. She would be so happy to know he actually uses it.

* * *

The blonde one wakes me up this morning. I don't know how she awakens before I do, but there she is, every morning, pulling back my curtains. It's still dark outside when I open my eyes and I glance over at the clock. 4:45. My eyes are heavy with exhaustion but I sit upright in the bed anyways, ignoring my body's tiredness. Being tired is weak and I can not afford weak. I hold my hands together and raise my arms above my head to stretch. I feel like my whole body cracks. I rotate my neck in circles. The pops are a welcome release of tension.

"I made pancakes for you, Vegeta," the blonde woman says. "And I bought some more of that syrup you liked so much." She smiles over at me, waving a duster in the air. I frown at her. Out of all the people on this planet, she is the one who confuses me the most.

"Dr. Briefs and I are going away today. It's our anniversary. We're renewing our vows and going back to the same place we had our honeymoon. Isn't that so romantic? I'm so excited." She prances around the bedroom, chattering away about her trip. I've been listening to the details for a month but still haven't been able to piece together what a honeymoon is. I frown again. I don't want to hear about her trip anymore.

"You may leave now," I tell her, standing up next to the bed.

"Oh, Vegeta. Just like my Bulma, so grumpy in the morning." She smiles at me as she leaves the room, still waving that damn duster around. I've never once seen her actually use it since I've been staying here.

My stomach growls and I pull out a pair of sweat pants from my dresser. I put them on over my boxers as I walk out of the room, my nose following the smell of fresh pancakes from across the house.

I pass by the blue haired woman's room on my way down the hall. I steal a glance in and see her sprawled out across the bed. She's snoring softly. I smirk to myself and continue my journey to the kitchen, tugging the drawstring of my pants tighter as I go.

That damn blonde woman is in the kitchen when I enter, but she has already set my food on the table for me and I quickly forget my annoyance. The pancakes are gone in minutes and I make my way to the gravity chamber as the blonde one chatters away about what a big boy I am and my supposedly insatiable appetite.

*****

I emerge a few hours later and as I make my way into the latrine I can hear the blonde one and the blue haired woman speaking in the blue haired one's room. It's day light now and I've been training almost all morning. I would still be out there if it weren't for the new gaping hole in the side of my gravity room. I close the latrine door behind me and turn on the shower, frustrated. I want nothing more than to train. My quest for Super Saiyan occupies my every conscience thought.

I close my eyes as I stand in the shower, letting the water pour down my body. I can feel my hair flatten to my back. I sigh and relax. The heat from the shower feels so good on my aching muscles. I squint through the water and look for the soap. It's gone. I growl and grab the blue bottle that the blonde woman put in the shower stall. I remember her telling me it was like soap but specifically made for men. I frown as I use it to lather up. It smells sharp and spicy but at least it doesn't smell like roses. I wash my hair and rinse off my body then turn off the shower and step out of the stall. The entire latrine is warm now and the steam has fogged the mirrors.

I bend slightly and give my head a good shake. I grab a towel off the rack and rub it through my hair, drying it. My hair takes on its erect shape once again. I take another towel and dry most of my body. I tie the towel around my waist and sling the other around my shoulders.

As I exit the latrine I see a shape next to the door. It's the blue haired woman. I frown at her as the cold air of the hallway hits me like a brick. She has her index finger stuck halfway in her mouth and she looks up at me startled. She reminds me briefly of a small child caught doing something wrong but my attention is immediately pulled to the fact that she is only wearing an oversized shirt. My eyes subconsciously trace the length of her legs and all thoughts of an unruly child are instantly gone. I humph at myself for eyeing her and stalk past her towards my room, uncomfortably aware of the sudden chill of the hallway and the fact that I am clothed in only a towel.


	3. Chapter 3

ch.3

"Come on, dear, we're going to miss our flight if you don't hurry," my father stands impatiently at the front door.

"One minute, honey," my mother tells him, giggling. She turns back to me, thrusting a piece of paper in my hand, "I wrote down all of Vegeta's favorite foods and what time he likes to eat. And the setting of the washer and dryer for his clothes. You know his skin is sensitive. And-"

"Mom," I interrupt, "The maid can take care of his royal high ass. He already thinks we're his servants. I'm not going to feed his ego." My mother puts both hands on her hips and I hear my father sigh.

"Now, Bulma. Vegeta is our guest and you know he doesn't trust the staff to touch his food or his clothing."

"Well he doesn't trust me either!" I can't help but feel like a teenager again, arguing with my mother about staying out past curfew. My mother frowns dramatically and starts to lay down her purse on the hall table.

"Well I guess I'll just have to stay here then and look after Vegeta. I just couldn't enjoy my week knowing that he wasn't being properly cared for."

"Fine!" I snap in defeat, "I'll babysit." I roll my eyes and shove the list in my pocket. My mother claps and giggles, grabbing her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. My father opens the front door.

"Thank you, Bulma. Now come on, Bunny. The driver has already loaded our luggage in the back of the limo. We're going to be _late_." My father takes my mother's arm and gently pulls her out the door.

"Bye, Bulma!" my mother waves.

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad," I smile in spite of myself and close the door behind them. The quiet of the house looms over me. I sigh and lean my back against the door, closing my eyes. I pull the paper out of my pocket, smoothing out the newly formed creases. My eyes scan over the foods my mother thinks are Vegeta's favorites.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter to myself, "He's a grown man, not a child. It'll do him some good to actually fend for himself a little." I ball up my instructions and toss them into the nearest trash can. I can almost feel the guilt crawling up my spine but I shrug it off.

"He's a grown man!" I declare to the air. My sudden outburst is met by silence. I stalk into the kitchen and run head-on into the object of my frustration.

"Hello? Watch where you're going," I push past Vegeta, head down to hide the blush on my cheeks. I feel his eyes on me and turn around to face him. He's standing with his body tilted away from me, but his neck is turned, eyes on me.

"What?" I ask rudely, pursing my lips in a defiant manner. He crinkles his nose and sneers, his eyebrows coming together with the movement in his face. His eyes bore into mine, cold and emotionless. I glare back at him, unwilling to lose this impromptu staring contest. I put my hands on my hips. He narrows his eyes further.

"What's your problem?" Silence. "Whatever," I mutter, breaking our eye contact and turning my back on him. "You are such a weirdo, Vegeta." I glance back in his direction to find myself alone in the room.

"_Such_ a weirdo," I mutter to the air.

* * *

I open my eyes and scan my surroundings. The room is dark now, thanks to the curtains I closed after my shower, and I hear only silence throughout this wing of the house. The human inhabitants of the home must be downstairs, preparing for their departure. I frown to myself. The blonde woman is the one in charge of my meals, clothing and other basic provisions. I try to recall her mentioning to me who will take over her charge in her absence, but my memory fails to remember any such detail. My frown deepens.

I stand from my spot on the floor where I have been sitting, meditating all afternoon. With the gravity room out of submission for the time being, my training is limited and I am forced to improvise. Meditating helps me refocus myself and to remind me of my purpose in this place. I must become stronger. I must become a Super Saiyan. I snarl at the memory of Kakkarot's achievement and shake my head to push the image out of my mind.

I open the door and make my way downstairs. The smell of food wafts through the house and I inhale through my nostrils. My stomach growls impatiently.

The blonde woman is exiting the kitchen as I approach.

"Oh, Vegeta, honey. I left you your lunch on the table," she pats my arm and giggles as she walks past me,"Have a nice time here while we're gone." I say nothing, my nostrils briefly assaulted with the smell of her perfume. She whisks by me, taking the offensive odor with her, and my lunch once again commands my attention.

I eat quietly and with purpose. My ears pick up the sound of conversation down the hall. I can easily recognize the blonde one's high voice and I assume she is saying her farewells to the blue haired woman. I hear the front door open and close and then silence. I stand from the now empty table.

I hear a solitary voice from down the hall but can't quite make out what is said. I stand in place, listening intently but nothing else is said. I turn and begin to exit the kitchen and run head-on into the blue haired woman. I see a slight blush form on her cheeks and she pushes past me clumsily, feigning indignance.

"Hello? Watch where you're going," she mutters. I turn my body slightly and let my head follow her movement into the kitchen, narrowing my eyes at her insolence. As if she knows I am watching her she turns, facing me. Her eyes examine my face and my stance.

"What?" she demands, poking out her lips in an angry pout. I stare intently at the shape of her lips, then mentally chide myself for letting her distract me again. I crinkle my nose and sneer. My brows furrow in frustration. Every time I see her I notice something new about her features. She places both of her hands on either hip and glares at me. I narrow my eyes. I do not understand this woman and her intentions.

"What's your problem?" she demands. I say nothing, watching her lips form the words.

"Whatever," she mutters and her eyes leave mine. She turns her back to me and walks towards the sink. I frown at her and silently take my opportunity to leave. I hear her speak from the room but I have already retreated down the hall and I ignore the nagging in my subconscience to turn back.

**Haven't updated in a while but I'm working on a new chapter which will be longer and up soon. Reviews would be nice =]**


	4. Chapter 4

**Finally got a new chapter up. I know it's been a few weeks. I plan on updating more regularly, I'm just still trying to decide exactly how I want this story to go.**

ch. 4

"Shit!" I drop the book in my hand and jump up from the kitchen table. I run to the oven and yank the door open. In my haste I forget to grab a potholder and reach in and grab the pan of burnt chicken with my bare hands.

"SHIT!" I scream, dropping the pan and instinctively bringing my burnt hand to my lips. The pan crashes to the floor and the chicken rolls out, the juices marking its path across the kitchen floor.

I reach over and turn the oven off then make my way to the sink and turn on the faucet. The cold water is painfully soothing to my injured hand. I open a drawer and take out a washcloth and hold it under the water. Once the cloth is thoroughly soaked I turn off the faucet and wrap the cloth around my hand.

I turn around to assess the damage to my dinner and jump as I notice Vegeta leaning against the door frame. His arms are crossed and he is smirking at me. I can feel the blush form on my cheeks. He pushes himself off the frame and walks into the kitchen.

"I presume this is my meal lying on the floor?" he asks, motioning to the burnt bird.

"Well, it was," I say, then smile, "but you can still have it if you'd like." He snorts and rolls his eyes.

"I'm sure it would taste the same no matter how you choose to prepare it," he smiles smugly at me and my eyes narrow.

"Look, buster, I just burnt my hand trying to make you dinner so-"

"I know. I saw." he interrupts, his smile broadening. If I didn't know any better I'd think I had burnt my cheeks and not my hand. I open my mouth to speak but my embarrassment overshadows any clever comeback I can think of. I narrow my eyes, close my mouth and humph.

I take a potholder off the counter and pick up the pan that once housed my chicken. I dump it unceremoniously into the sink and turn back around to pick up the chicken. I'm surprised to see Vegeta dumping it into the trash. The almighty Prince of the Saiyans cleaning up spilt food? I smile in spite of myself.

"Who knew you could actually be useful," I remark, smiling even wider as Vegeta turns to face me, frowning.

"Shut up," he barks, "the faster you clean up your mess the faster you can prepare my meal. Now stop gawking at me and clean." I smile hard at him, my eyes watching as he crosses his arms, pretending to ignore his white gloves covered in chicken grease.

"You have chicken juice on your hands," I say sweetly. He glares at me then, to my surprise, walks over and rubs his gloved hand down the side of my face. He takes a step back and sneers.

"And now you have chicken juice on your face. Now make me food!" I stand shocked for a moment then burst out laughing. I wrap my arm around my stomach and bend slightly, laughing and trying to catch my breath. Vegeta stands in front of me, his impatience evident on his face.

"oK, oK," I manage to wheeze out, "What do you want to eat?" I wipe a tear from my eye with my good hand and grin at him. He glares at me for a moment then shrugs.

"I have no preference. Anything quick, I've wasted enough time here with your foolishness."

"Something quick, huh?" I walk over to the cabinets and open one of the doors. "Hmm...soup, soup, soup," I rummage through the cabinets, pushing cans aside, "Aha!" I grab a jar and turn to face my irritated house guest.

"How about PB & J's?" I hold up the jar of peanut butter for him to see. He stares blankly at me.

"What is a...PB & J?" he asks, rolling the letters slowly off his tongue. I smile. As alien as he acts I still find myself forgetting that he IS, in fact, an alien.

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches," I reply. He snorts and jerkily shakes his head.

"No."

"No?" I ask, furrowing my brows.

"I require a meal. Not a sandwich." he says haughtily, crossing his arms.

"Beggars can't be choosers," I reply absently, setting the jar of peanut butter down on the counter. "If you want anything to eat tonight I'd suggest you learn to like PB & J's." He snorts.

"Maybe I'll just roast one of your father's cats." I spin to face him, my heart quickening. He is smiling smugly at me. I stare at him, unsure of whether I should take his threat seriously or not.

"No you won't," I slowly say after a moment. He cocks an eyebrow at me.

"Oh?" His smirk is about to piss me off. I chew my bottom lip as I narrow my eyes at him.

"You will eat my sandwich and you will like it, mister." He laughs. Not the maniacal laughter I have been accustomed to hearing, but a genuine laugh of amusement. It sounds strange coming from his lips.

"Prepare my food, woman." His stone mask is instantly back on. I ignore his rudeness and comply, my rumbling stomach working towards his cause. I make the sandwiches in silence, Vegeta standing a few feet apart, watching silently.

"Here you go," I place a plate full of sloppily made sandwiches on the table and take two off, placing them in front of my seat.

"Do you want some milk? It really goes best with peanut butter," I walk to the refrigerator and take out a gallon of milk, not bothering to wait for his answer. I'm not surprised when he doesn't give one. I pour myself a glass and place the gallon in front of him at his seat.

I take my seat and daintily pick up my first sandwich and take a bite.

"Mmm, I love peanut butter," I tell him, my mouth full. He stares straight ahead. I swallow what's in my mouth and wave my sandwich in front of his face.

"Hello? Ever heard of conversation?" His body remains perfectly still but his eyes slowly turn in my direction.  
"If you value your hand then I would suggest you keep it away from my face." He turns his attention back to his food. "You've already lost one today," he adds with a smirk.

"You're so immature," I take another bite of my sandwich. He snorts but says nothing. We continue the rest of our meal in silence, the only sound the chewing of food. Vegeta finishes off the milk and stands. He looks in my direction and nods, then turns and walks out of the room. I chew thoughtfully as I watch him leave.

* * *

I make my way through the house towards the kitchen. It is past my usual meal time and I can no longer ignore the insistent growling in my stomach. I pause in the doorway. The blue-haired woman is sitting at the table, intently reading some sort of book. I watch her absently push back a stray strand of hair out of her face, her long fingers gracefully moving through her hair. I cross my arms and lean against the door frame. She is such easy prey. A warrior would have noticed my presence by now, but the woman is oblivious.

"Shit!" she drops the book abruptly and stands upright. I momentarily think she has finally seen me but to my confusion she runs to the oven and flings the door open. She bends over to take out its contents and I admire the curves of her backside. I feel a tingling in my groin and I grit my teeth, pressing my arms harder across my chest.

"Shit!" she exclaims again, but this time with pain evident in her voice. The contents of the oven fall onto the floor with a loud clang and what I assume was to be my dinner rolls across the floor.

I smirk. My amusement at her antics momentarily outweighs my hunger. She runs to the sink and holds her hand out under the pouring water. I can see the blisters already forming from where I stand. After a few moments she retrieves a cloth from a drawer, wets it, then wraps it around her hand. She turns and stops, startled. I see the blush forming on her cheeks. I don't know why she becomes so undone at the sight of me but I smirk at my effect on her.

"I presume this is my meal lying on the floor?" I ask, motioning to the burnt chicken.

"Well, it was," she answers thoughtfully, then smiles slyly, "but you can still have it if you'd like." I snort and roll my eyes at her foolishness.

"I'm sure it would taste the same no matter how you choose to prepare it," I reply smoothly, smirking at her. Her eyes narrow. I enjoy taking every chance to remind her of her pitiful cooking skills.

"Look, buster, I just burnt my hand trying to make you dinner so-"

"I know. I saw." I interrupt. Blush erupts on her face and I smile broadly. She opens her mouth to reply but to my amusement promptly shuts it. She narrows her eyes and humphs. She roughly grabs a cloth from the counter and bends down and retrieves the pan from the floor. She turns back to the sink and I follow suit, picking the chicken off the floor by its leg and drop it into the garbage.

"Who knew you could actually be useful?" the woman says, and I look over to see her with a ridiculous smile on her face. I frown at her. Must she always have something to say about everything?

"Shut up," I growl at her, "the faster you clean up your mess the faster you can prepare my meal. Now stop gawking at me and clean." I cross my arms to prove my point, ignoring the chicken juice on my gloves that is now on the arms of my training suit. The woman smiles wider.

"You have chicken juice on your hand," she says in a sickeningly sweet voice. I glare at her. If she only knew how badly I wished to slap that stupid grin right off of her face. I walk towards her and wipe my hand down the side of her face. I can feel the smoothness of her skin through my gloved fingers and I step back to stop myself from acting on my now growing desire. I sneer at her.

"And now you have chicken juice on your face. Now make me food!" She stares at me, shocked then suddenly erupts into a fit of laughter. She holds her side and bends forward, her face flushed and giggling. I cross my arms and scowl at her. My patience is wearing thin.

She finally stands upright and stifles her giggles. "oK, oK," she chokes out, "What do you want to eat?" She wipes a tear from her eye with her good hand and grins. I continue to glare at her but take note of how startling blue her eyes look from the tears. I shrug absently.

"I have no preference. Anything quick, I've wasted enough time here with your foolishness."

"Something quick, huh?" she says and walks to one of the many cabinets in the room. She swings open the door and begins rummaging through its contents, mumbling to herself.

"Aha!" she exclaims and turns to face me, "How about PB & J?" she holds out a brown jar proudly. I stare at her, confused.

"What is a...PB & J?" I ask slowly, the words unnervingly foreign to me. I do not like having to seek information from others. She smiles.

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches," She says. I snort and my head jerks to the side in disapproval.

"No."

"No?" She asks, furrowing her brows.

"I require a meal. Not a sandwich." I reply matter-of-factly, crossing my arms.

"Beggars can't be choosers," she replies, setting the jar on the counter. "If you want anything to eat tonight I'd suggest you learn to like PB & J's." I snort.

"Maybe I'll just roast one of your father's cats." She spins to face me. I smile smugly at her. Her eyes search my face for any hint of a joke on my face, but I betray nothing.

"No, you won't," she says slowly, as if she's trying to convince herself more than me.

"Oh?" I ask, smirking. She glares at me, chewing her bottom lip.

"You will eat my sandwich and you will like it, mister." Her tone is harsher than I expected and I laugh at her annoyance. She smiles slightly at me. I cease my laughter as abruptly as I began it.

"Prepare my food, woman." To my pleasure, she complies without a word of protest. I watch as she gathers her utensils and begins to make the sandwiches. Her hands move clumsily and I am sure that her burnt hand bothers her, though she says nothing about it. All of the sandwiches come out looking half-assed but I make no remark about their appearance. She lifts the plate of her creations and places it on the table.

"Here you go," she says then snatches the top two off the pile, placing them on the table.

"Do you want some milk? It really goes best with peanut butter," she walks to the refrigerator and removes a gallon of milk. She pours a glass full and places the remaining gallon beside my plate.

She takes her seat across from me and picks up one of her sandwiches and begins to eat. The texture of the peanut butter is strange but I continue to eat regardless. I'm too hungry now to care about the taste of the food.

"Mmm, I love peanut butter," She says, her mouth full of food. I try to ignore her but she obnoxiously waves her sandwich in front of my face.

"Hello? Ever heard of conversation?" I swallow the food in my mouth as my eyes slowly drift in her direction.  
"If you value your hand then I would suggest you keep it away from my face." I growl, looking back at my plate. "You've already lost one today," I smirk.

"You're so immature," she takes another bite of her sandwich. I snort. What a hypocrite. She says nothing more for the rest of the meal. I pick up the gallon of milk and heartily chug the rest of it, standing. I look at the woman and nod in acknowledgment. She stares up at me, still chewing. I turn and exit the room.


End file.
